Begging
by TJTMaria
Summary: He collapsed onto his knees, begging for her. Oneshot - Modern AU - Rated T for suggested themes. Merlin/Morgana


**This is a short story based off a poem. I altered the original text I wrote slightly to fit the characters more. Criticism is always welcome, don't be afraid to review. :) -TJT**

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He collapsed onto his knees, begging for her.

She stood tall, powerful. She appeared invincible but he knew better. The scars down her left arm told a story which she refused to tell.

Her lips were dark and plump, standing out against her pale skin like a full moon against the midnight sky. Her dark river of hair flowed over her elegant, creamy white shoulder and cascaded down her bare back.

Involuntarily, he let out a groan of pleasure. She knew _exactly_ what she could do to him, how to set him on fire. Her lips tugged upwards into a devious smile and her dark emeralds gleamed mischievously. She crouched down slowly, her manicured hands sliding down her pale legs.

"I told you." She whispered, her breath hot against his ear. "I would have you until you begged for mercy twice."

She pulled away, her cheek brushing his and her lips leaving a red mark as though he were a blushing schoolboy. Their eyes locked – dark, daring emeralds against misty, loyal blues. She leaned in, her lips not even a centimetre from his. She didn't even try to hide her amusement from teasing him.

He hated her.  
He despised her with a burning passion, like a fire raging from his chest and spreading all over his body.  
She drove him insane. A few months ago he thought she had died from the fall. Sometimes, she could be so, _so_ stupid.

Yet he loved her. He wanted – _needed_ her. He couldn't live without her.

"Wish I could." He mumbled, bringing himself out of the flashback and back to reality.

The misty blue eyes looked up towards the door hopefully, believing his heart when it said she would come out in a minute with two cups of tea, her typically British idiocies, and she would agree not the play her violin past ten on a Saturday night when he was trying to watch football. They would have a nice chat. They would be okay.

He didn't listen to the small voice in the back of his mind.

Running a hand through his soft, dark hair, his gaze fell upon his left arm. He understood why she couldn't speak to anyone about it. How she couldn't just stop overnight. It was an addiction. A coping method.

His mouth turned upwards into a sneer as he looked away from the scars and towards the dark street, lit only by streetlamps and small amounts of light that had escaped out of someone's window.

He took a moment to be grateful that there was a porch outside their home – even if it was only just bigger than the door itself. Either way, he was sheltered from the rain that poured down from the heavens.

He could make out their neighbour, Mrs Hudson, as she shuffled down the path in her bright blue raincoat.

He studied her as she got closer. Her usual dark brown trousers had turned black from the rain and the co-op bags that hanged off her arms rustled together, occasionally banging in to her side.

She must have been through a lot in her life; pain, tears, joy, laughter, love, heartbreak. Yet she was still here.

"Are you okay?" Mrs Hudson asked, standing a few meters in front of him.

He shot her a charming smile to put her mind at ease. "Yeah, she locked me out because she was playing that stupid instrument again."

She just stared back at him. Her electric blue orbs appearing tired, as though she had already had this conversation a million times before.

"Listen, you can hear her now." He sighed before looking her in the eye. "Can you hear her?"

Mrs Hudson bit her lip, reminding herself about what the Doctor had said. She wanted to slap him out of it and drag him by the ear back into reality. However, the Doctor had insisted that he should come to terms with it in his own time.

"Of course I can." She nodded, blinking back her tears. He couldn't see the damage – not yet anyway.

For a second, a _split _second, he looked at her with knowing eyes. It was as though he knew and he knew it was a lie.

But then it was gone, replaced with a bright smile.

"She'll open the door in a minute." He said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder towards the plain, white door. "She's stopped now – thank God. I guess, when you love someone, you put up with them, don't you?"

"Yes." She agreed quietly, keeping up her calm, casual act.

"She'll open the door in a minute, you watch."

Mrs Hudson tried not to let his words get to her but it was quickly becoming too much. He did this every Saturday night, keeping up with the routine they had before she lost her way.

"I'm going to go home, I think." She announced with a small smile.

His face changed, filled with disappointment, his misty blue eyes shining with fear. Then he hid it with a heart-warming smile.

The change was so quick that she wondered if she had just imagined it – maybe it was _her _going insane.

He stood, brushing himself off. "Okay, Mrs Smith. Goodnight." He waved his hand in farewell before turning back to his door.

He didn't see the old, sad blue eyes.

He didn't see the tear run down her wrinkled cheek.

He didn't see things the way they _really_ were.

Once Mrs Hudson had entered her own home, he felt the loneliness stab in to his chest and spread through him like snake venom.

Then, he pushed open the door himself, the familiar scent of home greeting him, the warmth hugging him. He knew, he knew, he _knew_. It made him feel sick.

He collapsed on to his knees, begging for her.

**END**


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